My son tried to kill me yesterday.
The little one, not the teenager (which surprises me).
We were finally putting in MyMan’s rose garden at EastWinds. I’d insisted that if, if they were going to have a chance of surviving, we needed to take advantage of the coming rains.
The boys had been collecting rocks out of the paddock we call the ReunionOval – this is where we will eventually build our house and it is named the ReunionOval because MyMan and I’s relationship is something of a reunion after 25 years living in different states, and because the paddock is going to be the family football oval until we build (we’re even putting in white poly-pipe posts before TheBoy’s 13th birthday party).
So the boys had been collecting rocks to make it safer for their sister to mow the oval and they had been creating a border for the rose garden.
Meanwhile I was elbow-deep in a muddy hole planting the ‘Blue Moon’ rose when I felt TheToddler looming over me with a small boulder.
The words ‘move away from me with that rock, the last thing I want is a boulder in the head’ had barely left my lips when I felt a clunk against the front of my skull that made my stomach roil and knocked me off my knees.
I could hear MyMan telling The(Evil)Todder off and requiring him to apologise as, sobbing, I lifted my head from the mud.
All I can think is it must have looked like a horror movie, the rain commingling the streaks of blood and mud and sending them washing down my face in rivulets. Blood dripping onto my hands and the still-bare roots of the rose.
Together, the pair of them let out a shocked ‘oooh’ – horror movie style.
Today, I am teaching agriculture (for the first time) to Year 10s who are truly tickled by my black eye and lumpy forehead (one of them even has a matching shiner from a sheep-handling incident). TheToddler’s ears are still ringing from the berating he received. MyMan’s new St John’s First Aid Kit got its first try-out and the ‘Blue Moon’ received a little extra blood and bone in its planting diet.
My son tried to kill me yesterday.
The little one, not the teenager (which surprises me).
We were finally putting in MyMan’s rose garden at EastWinds. I’d insisted that if, if they were going to have a chance of surviving, we needed to take advantage of the coming rains.
The boys had been collecting rocks out of the paddock we call the ReunionOval – this is where we will eventually build our house and it is named the ReunionOval because MyMan and I’s relationship is something of a reunion after 25 years living in different states, and because the paddock is going to be the family football oval until we build (we’re even putting in white poly-pipe posts before TheBoy’s 13th birthday party).
So the boys had been collecting rocks to make it safer for their sister to mow the oval and they had been creating a border for the rose garden.
Meanwhile I was elbow-deep in a muddy hole planting the ‘Blue Moon’ rose when I felt TheToddler looming over me with a small boulder.
The words ‘move away from me with that rock, the last thing I want is a boulder in the head’ had barely left my lips when I felt a clunk against the front of my skull that made my stomach roil and knocked me off my knees.
I could hear MyMan telling The(Evil)Todder off and requiring him to apologise as, sobbing, I lifted my head from the mud.
All I can think is it must have looked like a horror movie, the rain commingling the streaks of blood and mud and sending them washing down my face in rivulets. Blood dripping onto my hands and the still-bare roots of the rose.
Together, the pair of them let out a shocked ‘oooh’ – horror movie style.
Today, I am teaching agriculture (for the first time) to Year 10s who are truly tickled by my black eye and lumpy forehead (one of them even has a matching shiner from a sheep-handling incident). TheToddler’s ears are still ringing from the berating he received. MyMan’s new St John’s First Aid Kit got its first try-out and the ‘Blue Moon’ received a little extra blood and bone in its planting diet.
No comments:
Post a Comment